The messages were sent yesterday—more precisely right after Haze dropped me off.
Unknown: How ironic that you would push away the only person who cares.
I’m paralyzed, my breathing shallow.
Unknown: Enjoy the time you have left and watch out for the scars.
The scars? What the heck is that supposed to mean? What scars?
I read the messages over and over again, hoping to remember something, anything, about yesterday. Maybe it was a suspicious car parked on the street. Maybe it was someone walking on the sidewalk. It could be anyone, anywhere. All I know is the person behind the unknown number saw it all. They saw Haze and I get into a fight; they saw me bolt out of the car and cry my eyes out like a pathetic mess.
My stalker was here yesterday.
And he might be here right now.
I run to the window and shove the curtains open with one hand. No one except the neighbor. The nice granny who lives on the other side of the street waves at me while she waters her flowers. I wave back. For all I know, she could be the unknown number.
I’m completely paranoid.
When Blake’s car pulls up in the driveway, the inevitable question comes to me. Should I tell the boys about the messages?
They would put the pieces together, understand that something happened between me and Haze, and make my life a living hell… but they might also be the only ones who know what “watch out for the scars” means.
Blake gets out of the car, probably to knock on the door, but I decide to save him the trouble and step outside.
“Come on, we have to go,” he hisses when he sees me.
Immediately, I’m under the impression that Blake is either very angry at me or having an awful day.
“What’s the rush?”
“We have to get you ready for the fight. That’s the rush.”
“What do you mean? I’m not the one fighting.”
“Still, you need to be prepared for all the things you might see tonight.”
“You think I’ve never seen two guys fight?” I arch an eyebrow.
“You haven’t. Not like this, trust me.” He grows impatient. “Are you waiting for the grass to grow?”
Okay, rude.
We walk toward the car side by side, and I frown.
That’s very out of character for Blake. I’ve never seen him in such a bad mood. I get into the passenger seat and buckle up, wondering what his problem is. I watch the vein in his neck throb in anger as he pulls out of the driveway recklessly.
And I thought Haze drove like an idiot.
/> I mentally slap myself when his name creeps its way into my brain again. It’s only been a day since I fought with him and I can’t stop thinking about him.
Feelings suck.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I’m sure I’m doing better than you.”
I furrow my eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”